


All Through the Night

by obsidiangrey



Series: States 'Verse [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family, Family Dynamics, Fatherhood, Gen, Light Angst, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:33:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidiangrey/pseuds/obsidiangrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the whole nation-state relationship thing and the fact that more than a quarter of his kids are the same age as him, America has always been, first and foremost, a father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through the Night

****_1776_

He never really knew how to act around little kids.

To start, England had never been much of a role model- which wasn't to say that he _wasn't_ a role model, wasn't to say that America didn't idolize him, because he kind of did, or at least he _used_ to. It was just- well. England had never been _around_ very often. The longest America could remember him staying and actually devoting attention to his young colony was three weeks, and then he had to leave because of some business something or other. America wasn't so bothered by it anymore, but there was still that feeling of utter heartbreak leftover from his childhood, that sense of abandonment that only a child can feel, watching his sort-of-mentor-father-brother-person leave _again_.

Also, he was still kind of a kid himself. America had only been around for a couple centuries, and the first one was pretty hazy. It wasn't a very long time at all in comparison to the other Nations. But he _grew_ , shot up like a beanstalk, and not he was a confused colony-child in a fourteen-year-old body. That was about the age his people expected their young girls and boys to become young ladies and men, and America kind of raised himself, so it was all very confusing. People started treating him more like an adult and it left him feeling a bit lost.

He _loved_ kids, that was the thing. And kids liked _him_ , too- kids didn't know how their nation could disappoint them, kids liked his smile and how he'd play with them and only ever turn them away if he had a _really really important reason_ because he never wanted them to feel the way he had felt, the confusion and the hurt and none of the comprehension to go with it. He liked kids, he still _was_ a kid. He knew how to be a kid, not how to raise one.

And that was where the whole role model thing with England came in, and his lack of knowledge on raising children who were personifications just like him. He found the Colony and Dominion of Virginia first.

Most of his time was spent in Virginia. That was where England's house was, that was where England was most likely to return to if he ever saw fit to visit, so that was where America stayed, and that was why he found a little girl wandering the fields and forests- blonde hair, and bushy eyebrows a bit like England's, and blue eyes that mirrored his own.

And what to _do_ with her? It was 1670; thoughts of rebellion hadn't entered his head yet and wouldn't for some time. He was fifteen, and the colony looked to be six or seven.

...He could pass her off as his little sister, if he needed to, and took her back to the too-large house England had left behind. He gave her some of his old clothes, and she took to them more than dresses and petticoats, and he thought to himself _why not?_

And then he found the Province of New York, and then New Jersey, and _then_ Pennsylvania. They were maybe ten or so physically, though a few decades had passed; he had once met the Province of Massachusetts Bay, who insisted on staying on his land with an older man he thought might have been the old Plymouth colony, only to show up a few years later with the colony of Maine; the Province of Maryland and the Provinces of North and South Carolina followed; Connecticut Colony and Delaware Colony and the Colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations; the Province of New Hampshire went to find Vermont after the war had ended in '63; the Province of Georgia, whisked off an auction block before his people could do her any more harm.

 _Now_ those ideas of rebellion were coming, and they sounded better and better by the day. He'd watched these kids grow up, he'd raised them, and he wouldn't let another Nation take them away.

Thirteen colonies and two subsets of those colonies, and one of him, and there was a war brewing, and he did his best to balance the politicians in their recently-formed Congress and the furious tirades in written letters from England and the more hesitant messages sent from his brother in Canada and the near-constant bickering of those thirteen-- fifteen, sometimes, but Maine and Vermont kept to themselves.

His kids.

America sighed and turned away from the window. It was dark in Philadelphia, and the rain had stopped some time in the evening. Rhode Island was going to be riding back to General Washington with messages from Congress come the morning, clad in a tattered militia uniform, tired and hungry and blazing with determination.

The people had started a revolution, and his kids were willing to throw themselves into the chaos. Most of them, at least; the South had a few reservations.

Revolution.

Wasn't it just recently that he had carried them to bed, singing soft lullabies, tucking the blankets in around them to make sure they didn't catch cold in the night?

* * *

_1723_

“'m tired, Papa.”

America put the last log into the fireplace, straightened, and turned to look at New York. The little colony was clutching a rabbit plush in one hand, pulling it along by one of its floppy ears, and was sucking on his thumb.

“Well, why aren't you asleep then?” he asked with a gentle smile, crossing the room and kneeling back down so they were at a closer height.

New York shrugged. His hair was a tousled mess, his eyes (America's eyes) bleary. “Can't sleep,” he said around the hand in his mouth.

Now, America didn't know what to do. England had never been around enough for him to get a decent grasp on how a parent-mentor-guardian-person should act, which meant he was often at a bit of a loss for the situations that raising colonies presented.

How to act around kids?

“Come here, then.” He held out his arms, and New York went willingly, letting his head drop onto America's shoulder. He carried him over to one of the armchairs, close to the fireplace. The house got cold in the winter. “Are the rest of your siblings asleep?”

“Yes. But you're always up late.” He yawned, scrunched up his face a moment later. It was adorable. America felt something twist in his chest. “Can you sing a lullaby, Papa?”

The question caught him off-guard. A lot of things that happened with his kids caught him off-guard. “A lullaby?” he repeated.

“Yes.” New York lifted his head up to blink at America with those wide blue eyes, _his_ eyes, his kids had his eyes. “Elizabeth knows songs. She sings sometimes, at night.”

Did he even _know_ any lullabies?

Well. Yes. A couple.

“Of course. Okay.” He shifted into a slightly more comfortable position. “Right, just speak up if Papa's singing voice is too terrible for your poor ears.”

New York giggled. “Okay, Papa.”

“Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night... Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night...”

* * *

_1802_

Georgia liked the nighttime. It was quiet. She had room to think, to breathe, to get away from the stress she felt whenever she spent too long with Pa and the other States.

Of course, she hadn't been spending as much time with them as of late. Pa was scrambling to keep up with his new government and the politics of it all, and her brothers and sisters had scattered to the wind. It more comfortable for them to spend time on their own land, with their own people- even Georgia felt more at ease on her own soil, though there was an underlying sense of unease that pervaded her thoughts when she was.

She was a State, though, and personifications lived a long time. There'd be a day when she wouldn't have to fight against the racism of the south, though she doubted it would be during President Jefferson's time in office. She was willing to wait.

Still, Pa neck-deep in politics and her siblings everywhere but the capital left Georgia to take care of Washington District, a tiny little girl with auburn hair and Pa's eyes and a tendency to get awful headaches whenever the politics of their government got into another snarled, tangled mess.

She supposed it came from her land having been siphoned off from Virginia and Maryland for the sole purpose of hosting the federal government. Politics were her sole reason for existence, the pair deeply entwined.

“You all right, Abby-girl?” she asked softly, opening the door to the capital's room. Pa owned a house here for convenience's sake, though she and Washington District were the two who stayed there most often. A faint whimper was the only response she got, and she stepped all the way into the room, careful not to make any noise. One blue eye peeked out at her from a mess of blankets and auburn curls. “Oh, love...”

A hand wriggled out of the blanket pile and reached toward her; Georgia didn't need words to understand the question being asked and sat down on the mattress, letting the capital crawl into her lap and mumble something incoherently.

“You want me to get you anything? Make another appointment with the doctor in the morning?”

The doctor in question had no idea what to do, and Georgia personally disliked him (the feeling was mutual), but Pa seemed to think he could help, so she tolerated the visits with a carefully blank face. Washington District shook her head. “Cold hands. Medicine's gross.”

"I know, Abby-girl.” Georgia ran her fingers over Washington District's hair, frowning slightly at the sweat and tangles. “Let's get you settled back down, see if you feel better after you's rested.”

She was asleep within a few minutes of having the covers straightened out. Georgia lingered all the same, sitting on the mattress and carding her fingers through the capital's hair, humming a tune soft and low. It'd always helped her sleep when Pa sang.

_Soft the drowsy hours are keeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping... I my loving vigil keeping all through the night.._

* * *

_2014_

She had more important things to do than babysit, but the important things tended to get tedious after a while. Washington District would never admit that, of course; she lived and breathed politics, she knew the workings of the government inside and out, she found a peculiar satisfaction in every official document read and reviewed and filed away, she truly did enjoy her work (she was probably one of the few in the capital who did).

But it got repetitive, and it got stressful, and so while her work was more important that many other things she could do, she didn't feel bad about taking a day off to watch some of the younger States. Yet another one of their family gatherings was fast approaching, which meant coordinating flights and transportation from all across the country to the family house in Vermont. Oregon, Alaska, and Hawaii had arrived this evening, and the four of them would be leaving tomorrow afternoon for home.

There was _so much_ paperwork she could have gotten done in the time it took to get three States running on three different time zones and four Alaskan Malamutes out of the airport, back to her house, and into the guest room.

“Guest room.” Housing wasn't cheap in the capital, especially not so close to the White House – her main place of employment – and her house was tiny. She'd put a king-sized air mattress in the corner of her room, on the wall opposite her twin-sized bed. They would probably have a more comfortable sleep.

Anyway.

Oregon's time zone was the closest to her own, so he had little problem falling asleep, even if he did so a couple hours later than he normally might have. Alaska had an uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time and followed shortly after. Alaska's sled dogs took a liking to Washington District's mattress instead of literally anywhere else in the house.

Hawaii crawled up into her lap while she was trying to get some paperwork done, having been evicted from her former sleeping spot. Oregon had decided to sleep diagonally across the mattress, limbs sprawled every which way, so she couldn't even bunk there.

“I can't sleep,” he declared, wriggling around in her lap until he decided he was comfortable. “What do _you_ do when you can't sleep?”

Washington District looked between her paperwork and the youngest member of her family. He didn't seem the type to sit still for that.

“Drink tea,” she replied after a moment's thought. “Listen to music.”

“Thought we weren't s'posed to drink tea?”

The statement gave her pause to think, at least up until she remembered who exactly Hawaii's older brothers were. “...Hadwin, you shouldn't take everything Patrick says seriously.”

“He _sounded_ serious.”

“He has a grudge against tea.” Washington District gave him a look that came very close to being a smile. “A very silly grudge.”

“Oh.” Hawaii scrunched up his face, thinking. “Can we listen to music and have tea?”

“We certainly can.” She put her pen down on the table and picked him up, walking off toward her cramped little kitchen. “Want to help me?”

“Yeah!”

She took out some of the cheaper tea she had, had Hawaii pour the hot water, had a brief internal debate over how much sugar she should add to his mug – chamomile would help him sleep, but sugar would probably be the only way he'd actually drink it – and eventually put in a small spoonful. He happily carried both their mugs back to her couch, setting them both on the rickety coffee table she owned before bouncing onto the cushions.

She understood how difficult it could be for a Nation or State to fall asleep outside of their time zones, their bodies still attuned to their land and their people, but she really didn't want to deal with a sleep-deprived Hawaii on an airplane.

“Do you like your tea?” she asked after he had taken a sip.

Hawaii nodded brightly. “Hot! Good though.”

“I'm glad you like it.”

He drank about a quarter of it, put the mug back down, and curled up into her side. “You're comfy.”

"...Thank you,” seemed like the best response.

He yawned, shifted around a bit, and poked her arm. “Music?”

“Oh, right.”

She had playlists of instrumentals and other quiet songs on her phone, good background noise for when she was working, so she took her phone from her pocket and picked one at random. There were several email notifications from various government persons, probably important, and a rapidly growing number of text messages – it appeared that one of the Dakotas had put everyone in the family into a single group text, which hadn't ended well the two times, and she doubted that the third time would be the charm in this case. She put the conversation on Do Not Disturb and put her phone face down on the table, listening to the soft sound of piano and violin.

Hawaii was content to sit in silence at least, resting if not actively sleeping, which was better than nothing. Washington District finished her tea and watched the numbers change on the digital clock under the television.

The song changed. She smiled at the same time Hawaii shifted a bit and said sleepily: “Papa's song.”

“Alfred's song,” she agreed.

For this particular track, it was a woman singing, but her memories were of her older sisters singing softly come the night, not America. It didn't feel strange at all to join in.

“O'er thy spirit gently stealing, visions of delight revealing, breathes a pure and holy feeling all through the night...”

Some time later, she noticed that Hawaii had fallen asleep with his head on her lap. She didn't have the heart to move him and covered him with a blanket instead.

* * *

_1634_

Nations weren't supposed to get _attached_. There was always another power preparing to rise up and snatch away land from an unsuspecting neighbor. There was always another traitor within the borders of one's own land, waiting for the opportunity to turn the tables yet again. He, as the primary representative of the British Empire, was more than aware of that.

Then again, who could _possibly_ rise up to defeat _him_? To go to war with _him_? It would be foolish at the very best, perhaps more accurately described as _madness_.

And there weren't many neighbors over in the New World. He already had plans to secure the rest of the coastline, and French Canada wouldn't be too hard to take. He'd like another excuse to go to war with France.

So. Here he was, getting attached. The little personification of the New World, of _British America_ , was fast asleep in his arms, tired after the long ride back to his house and the arduous task of getting cleaned up. His hair was an amber kind of blond, and his eyes, though closed now, were of the bluest skies.

And England, damn the world, didn't want to let him go.

Well. He wouldn't, then. He had to spend most of his time on his own soil, of course, and he doubted that such a young colony would fair well on a trans-oceanic trip, but there would be more ships making the journey as trade and commerce increased. The land down south was supposedly better for farming than this blasted area of the north, all cold winters and rocky soil. He would have plenty of opportunities to make trips back.

Yes, a good plan, though a bit insubstantial. But such was the way of things when planning decades ahead.

British America yawned and shifted a bit in his arms. England looked down fondly and patted the boy's head. This was good.

_Love, to thee my thoughts are turning_

_All through the night..._

_All for thee, my heart is yearning_

_All through the night..._

_Though sad fate our lives may sever_

_Parting will not last forever -_

_There's a hope that leaves me never,_

_All through the night_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So.
> 
> Patrick --> Massachusetts  
> Elizabeth --> Virginia  
> Hadwin --> Hawaii  
> Abigail (and it's variants) --> Washington District
> 
> America isn't much older than some of his colonies in terms of existence, but physically there was an age gap. Cue protective Dad!America. He was constantly freaking out that he couldn't be a parent because he was still a kid himself and England wasn't around much but he did a great job.
> 
> Ar Hyd Y Nos, or All Through the Night, is a Welsh folk song that was first written down in English in 1784. I'm taking creative license with time periods. England sang it to America when he was there, and America wound up singing it to his kids, and then it became an unofficial family tradition. The States don't know where America first heard the song.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
